


The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Backstory, Bets & Wagers, Choking, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, implied original minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Shipping some cargo for the Magnus Institute isn’t out of the ordinary, even if the destination is a ghost ship. But when Elias asks to come along, Peter finds the voyage does more than he’d like to shift his perspective.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Peter Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



“I remember when I first went to sea.”

Peter stilled at the remark, skin crawling with the unpleasant sensation of being noticed. Of being _seen_ , even while the eyes of the man before him remained fixed on the horizon. The very empty horizon.

“With Admiral Nelson?” Peter said dryly, forcing himself to take the final steps to the rail, where he could fix his own gaze on the sea, and try to pretend he was alone for just a moment.

“Quite.”

The affirmative was enough to get him to look at his companion, a man his own age with neatly styled hair tugged at lightly by the wind, dressed in a suit far too fine for the cargo ship he stood on. _Elias_ , Peter reminded himself. A name he should remember, even if he ordinarily preferred to forget. Just like he’d remembered James Wright, unable to forget the eyes that slowly turned their attention to him.

The eyes of Jonah Magnus.

“You’re joking,” Peter said, an edge of curiosity creeping into his voice.

It wasn’t absurd, after all. The timeline worked out, and from what he’d read of his own family history, what he’d gleaned through gossip and the contacts necessary to maintain his business, the Head of the Magnus Institute had always been frightfully well connected. Fingers in every pie. Or eyes, in this case. Not an entirely pleasant image, that.

“Am I?” Elias leaned subtly closer to Peter, who shifted far less subtly away. “Wars call such fascinating things from the depths. And sink others in their place. And both reveal much about the terrors of man. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m afraid, well, I don’t have much experience with war, do I?” He shuddered at the thought, the noise and the mess, and all the people banging together and tearing each other to pieces. Though he’d heard rumors of a great-uncle who’d done his part in World War II, making sure some ships never made it home. Not that he’d made much distinction between friend and foe. “You aren’t planning on starting one, are you?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Peter.” He rested a hand on Peter’s arm, fingers catching in the heavy fabric of his coat when he tried to pull away. “All I plan on doing is exactly what I told you. Finding my lost ship, and returning its lost cargo. And then we can be on our way.”

“Find your ghost ship, then back to Southampton, where I’ll leave you. I do have other business, you know.” He tugged at his arm again, and this time Elias let him escape. Though he found it harder to look away from those eerie grey eyes. It must be his imagination, but they seemed brighter, somehow, lodged in the skull of a younger man.

“The vigor of youth,” Elias responded, to the question Peter hadn’t wanted plucked from his head. “I’d quite forgotten how wonderful it could be.”

“I’m sure that’s wonderful, but I really have to be going. Pressing ship business, you know how it is.” He gave Elias a broad, empty grin and a nod to go with it, and didn’t much care if he believed him. No real point in lying to a mind reader. But old habits died hard, and Peter had no plans on making such conversations a regular thing.

Still, the old bastard turned rather younger bastard seemed to be having some influence on him, because instead of retreating to his cabin for some much needed peace and solitude, his treacherous feet instead took him to one of the less empty than usual shipping containers with its door slightly ajar. His crew had avoided it without even needing to be told, since Elias’s package had been deposited inside, a development Peter was rather pleased with. He might even see about giving them a bonus.

The only person who’d ventured there in their time aboard the ship was Elias’s rather unfortunate assistant. When he’d seen the man hovering behind Elias’s, he’d nearly booted him into the sea. Bad enough to have one voyeuristic interloper on his ship, but another who didn’t even have the weight of history and secrets and mutual debts on his side…well, he supposed the first covered both of them. Or at least it’d been easier to mentally tally it as a debt to call in than to argue on the dock.

Regardless, it was a debt he expected he’d have to collect from Elias himself. Curious as his young assistant was, he didn’t seem long for this world. Anyone with any sense should know never to go rummaging through any sort of top-secret shipments for the Magnus Institute. But as Peter slipped inside, what did he find but the assistant, crowbar clutched in trembling hand, staring fixedly at the crate.

He didn’t look up when Peter entered, not noticing him as he circled the crate himself. Perhaps he was a bit of a fool himself, for even getting this close. But with the heavy weight of the Lonely tucked around him, he suspected he was safe enough. And maybe Elias had been rubbing off on him, because despite his better judgment, he found he was a bit curious himself.

It was a curiosity he didn’t need to wait long to sate. In a sudden surge, the assistant took a step towards the crate, and began to pry off the lid in frantic, jerky motions. He was muttering to himself, not that Peter much cared what he had to say. Something about glass, or just glass. It hardly mattered. The only interesting thing about this was what lay inside the crate.

With a rather pathetic whimper, the assistant shoved off the lid. For a moment, his eyes slipped shut, and his hands clenched at his side, clearly steeling himself to look. Despite his own bravado, Peter found himself hesitating as well. Perhaps it was best he just left. Whatever unpleasantness awaited this man, it certainly wasn’t his business. And he lacked Elias’s tastes for such secondhand feasts.

Still, he’d come this far, hadn’t he? Might as well complete the little side jaunt, and have a look. He stepped towards the crate just as the assistant opened his eyes. But the man wasn’t what Peter cared about, his terrified scream fading into the background as Peter looked into the crate.

Eyes. Countless eyes that were—yes—glass, nestled against each other in the crate. For a moment, he couldn’t quite figure out why the assistant had screamed. Until they all as one turned their gaze upon him.

He froze, pinned in place but the sudden, awful feeling of those hundreds of eyes crawling across his skin. Tearing into him, worming through his bones and into his blood and across his mind to find all the terrible thoughts and secrets, and drink them in. Revolting, and mesmerizing in a way. How under their watch, for a moment he was the only thing that mattered. The only thing they saw, in all the vast and wretched world.

Then they turned back to the assistant, who was now sobbing against the wall of the crate. And Peter was left feeling empty and furious, that even for a moment, he’d considered that the terrible gaze of the Eye might be a good thing.

* * *

A ghost ship was hardly exceptional, as unusual phenomena went. Truth be told, on his chattier days, Peter might even say the Tundra itself was a ghost ship of sorts, even if it did sadly require a rather large number of flesh and blood crew to run it. Still, it had the requisite element of doom, the horror of the few who knew it trickling into ports, and those who discounted the tales of sailors left on the waves, in a mist no man could escape. Waiting for the terrible sound of the boatswain’s call on the wind.

Perhaps he was quite taken with his own budding mystery. But then, was it a bad thing, to take pride in your work? Peter certainly didn’t think so. And maybe that was why he was a bit hurt, when Elias laughed at his assertion there were enough ghosts to be found right here.

“You’ve certainly done well creating ghosts,” Elias said, rather more condescendingly than Peter thought was strictly necessary. “But this ship itself is a ghost. A lonely sentinel, without captain or crew, doomed to sail the empty sea.”

“Wonderful,” Peter said, scanning those still very empty waves for the hundredth time. “And hopefully not too ghostly to actually find. Isn’t that your specialty? Seeing things?”

“It is,” Elias agreed. “Just as yours is losing them.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t feel like a compliment,” Peter said, glaring out at the flat grey sky. The sort of day he might call lovely in any other circumstance, but he was beginning to get rather tired of having eyes on him at all times. And Elias’s presence was making them all too hard to escape.

Because it wasn’t just him. His lovely, very loyal crew seemed to be staring at him more. He’d even had to send a note to the first mate, informing the man Peter might need to take some unspecified action, should the crew continue looking at him. An odd request, he was fully aware. But they shouldn’t have taken his money if they didn’t want a few oddities. And they should be prepared to obey.

Since his note, they seemed to be trying harder. But the efforts proved a bit…unpleasant, at times. When the third mate’s neck had nearly cracked under the effort, Peter hadn’t bothered to correct him. After all, it was hardly his fault. All of the blame lay with the man smiling irritatingly at the sea.

“It is a compliment,” Elias said, turning to look at Peter and stepping uncomfortably close. The movement only getting more uncomfortable as he rested a hand on Peter’s cheek, leaving Peter rather glad of the small barrier his beard provided. A comfort quickly stolen away as Elias’s hand moved higher, and his fingertips rested at the corner of Peter’s eye. “I need you to see.”

“Absolutely not,” Peter snapped, hand coming up to wrap around Elias’s slender wrist. “I’m not having anything to do with whatever this is. I agreed to carry you to your destination, that’s it.”

“Peter,” Elias said, voice rich with the certainty of a man accustomed to getting his way. “This is part of that agreement. If you’d been willing to listen when I first approached you, you would’ve known that.”

In fairness, that was true. Peter had thought, well, he hadn’t really thought, had he? But then Elias—formerly James Wright—had never asked him for anything so outrageous before, had he? Just small favors, part of whatever ongoing deal he had with Peter’s family. Not Peter’s favorite thing, but it was easier to just do it, and leave his demands in the past.

He should’ve known this was different. He’d never insisted on coming before, never bothered to pay quite some much attention to Peter himself. Look at him beyond knowing he was a Lukas, one alone among an unknown many. Never seeing Peter himself. Until now.

“What will it do to me?” Peter said, not quite sure why he wasn’t refusing out of hand. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d never directly refuse, not if he could help it. Arguments were always so unpleasant, and particularly with a man like Elias. But normally he’d simply avoid the issue entirely. Another thing he supposed Elias was currently providing a large impediment against.

And, damn him, he was a bit curious.

“Nothing permanent, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve done it before, and your ancestor didn’t suffer any harm. Apparently, the sensation wasn’t even entirely unpleasant.” He leaned closer, leveraging himself up to bring his lips just a hair's breadth from Peter’s ear. “Do you want to see?”

Peter realized their positions had shifted as they’d talked. Elias’s back was now to the sea, allowing Peter to look over his head across it, to the horizon that remained stubbornly blank.

“If I let you, will we be able to get this over with?”

“Absolutely,” Elias said. “Ready?”

When Elias brought their lips together, Peter kept his eyes fixed on the no longer empty sea.

* * *

The assistant’s terror of the contents of the crate clearly didn’t dwarf his terror of Elias. Or was it respect? Peter could never really tell the difference, when it came to men like them. He supposed it didn’t matter. As long as it got the assistant helping him heft the crate onto the ghost ship.

Elias certainly wasn’t going to help, pacing placidly behind them on the gangway. When Peter had ordered it lowered, a few of his crew had exchanged dubious looks. But the first mate had been as reliable as Peter paid to expect, and the others had followed easily enough. Another example of that wonderfully odd dynamic produced by fear and/or respect.

But his crew was far from his mind now, as he and the assistant stepped onto the surprisingly solid wood of the ship. Despite Elias’s reassurances that it was perfectly solid, he half expected it to collapse beneath him. But it didn’t even creak, his footfalls muffled in a way that was achingly familiar.

So Elias hadn’t been lying, then. He did need Peter. Because this lovely, cursed ship must belong to Forsaken.

It was something he’d started to—well, there was not dodging around it, to _know_ —when he’d let Elias take his eyes, to spot it on the horizon. His crew had been gratifyingly unperturbed when he’d given the order. Then again, he supposed having a handsome young man clinging to him on the deck of his ship was a shockingly normal vice, as these things go. Positively comforting, when you’d seen the things his crew had seen.

Really, he would have to see about that bonus.

Once they’d lowered the gangway, he’d had the first mate dismiss them to their bunks, to await his command. And then, well, they’d arrived where they were now. Listening to Elias’s irritating commands to not jostle the crate overmuch, as if a few shattered eyes would matter that much, or as if they’d even shatter as they grunted and tugged the crate into the captain’s quarters.

“Kevin,” Elias said, smiling at his trembling assistant. “Would you mind checking below decks? For the item we discussed before we left.”

The assistant—Kevin, apparently, a name Peter would certainly forget momentarily—seemed to almost consider arguing. Perhaps less of a cowardly idiot than Peter had thought. But now, the mulish expression that had started to form faded away. He nodded miserably and walked out into the fog drenched deck.

“Good job hiring that one,” Peter remarked as they followed him out onto the deck, quickly losing him to the fog.

“Thank you. I’ve had a lot of practice.” He leaned back against the ship’s wheel, looking rather incongruous with his finely tailored modern suit, sprawled against the worn wood of what seemed to be an 18th century ship of the line. “It’s the HMS Vigilant,” Elias added, again answering a question Peter hadn’t asked. “And no, I didn’t read your mind. I simply read your face. You’re not very good at hiding what you’re feeling.”

The reminder of Elias’s intrusion gnawed at Peter’s improved mood, here on this rather homey deck. And the reminder dug up more unpleasant thoughts, as his mind drifted back to the crate they’d left in the captain’s cabin.

“Elias,” Peter said, taking a step closer to him, then another. Where before there was silence, the hull now seemed to announce his advance with each step. “What are the eyes for?”

“Oh, you took a peek?” His lips turned up in a sly smile, and his eyes met Peter, the very picture of a master manipulator who thought he knew everything. And he did, and wasn’t that the problem.

“Stop it,” Peter said, his voice rising. “You know, you know even here, and you want to—” His breath caught on the sudden wind. “You want to _defile_ it!”

Before he’d fully formed the notion, his hand wrapped around Elias’s all too delicate throat. He pressed his full body weight against Elias’s slender form, pushing him into the wheel in a way that had to be uncomfortable.

“Peter. It’s the HMS Vigilant. Who do you think it belonged to in the first place?” Elias’s hands remained loosely resting on two of the handles, making no attempt to throw Peter off. Still so confident he was in charge here, so certain Peter would dance to his tune.

“It’s just a name, and even if that’s true, Forsaken took it from you long ago.” His grip tightened, and Elias’s eyes widened. “I brought you here. I can leave you here.”

“Peter,” Elias said, finally sounding even slightly breathless. “You wouldn’t want to ruin centuries of a working relationship for this, would you?”

“It’s not my relationship,” he said. “I didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask to help you. I was told.” Family was important. But they couldn’t have known this. Could they? It didn’t matter. Peter was certain that it was wrong, to let this ship be plunged back into the harsh light of being.

“Quite,” Elias said with a tight smile. One that only got tighter as Peter’s fingers clenched at a gust of wind, whipping away the comforting fog. “Let me propose a bet, then.”

For a moment, Peter considered. Questioned whether he should accept it. After all, wasn’t he the one with the power here? And yet…his thumb dug into the side of Elias’s throat, and Elias squirmed against him but didn’t otherwise try to escape. Wouldn’t it be more satisfying, to win a challenge? He’d never been one for brute force anyway. Current circumstances excepted, given their infuriating target.

He let his hand relax, but didn’t move back or remove it from Elias’s throat.

“Well, what is it?”

“If Kevin returns with what I seek, I win. If he doesn’t return, well…” He gestured at the ship. “Then this ship remains Forsaken.”

Peter had seen how Elias’s assistant reacted to the crate. No true servant of the Ceaseless Watcher would quail so easily. Perhaps scream a little, but only to turn back to it. To learn and discover and find the terrors inside. His assistant was chosen for his blind obedience. Not the keen eye that would free him from this place.

“I accept. But I get to decide when it’s been long enough.”

He waited for a protest that didn’t come. Instead, Elias smiled his irritating smile, and raised a hand to cup Peter’s cheek.

“However shall we pass the time?”

Another bet, then. To draw out the time his assistant had. Once, Peter might’ve refused. But the man who had once been James Wright had chosen well. And Peter wasn’t adverse to releasing some of his frustrations in a more productive way.

His hand left Elias’s throat, only to grip his shoulders before he could speak, spinning him around to pin him to the wheel.

“Hold on,” Peter murmured into Elias’s ear, pressed along his back. And he was quite pleased to see Elias grip the handles again rather obligingly.

He spent a moment fumbling with Elias’s trousers, before growling in frustration and yanking them and his underwear down with a horrible ripping sound, laughing as he felt Elias wince.

“Was that really necessary?”

“My family probably paid for them. You can buy more.” He gave Elias’s arse a fond smack, and was rewarded with a muffled yelp.

“I suppose I can.”

He held his hand out in front of Elias’s face, and said, “Spit.”

“Seriously, Peter?”

“You’d rather go without?” He could do it himself, but honestly, he was enjoying Elias’s put upon indignity. And he rather suspected Elias was enjoying it as well. A fact that seemed to be bothering him less and less.

Elias spit into his hand, and Peter freed his cock, slicking it up and adding his own spit for good measure before lining up against Elias’s hole. Maybe he should’ve done a bit more prep, but if Elias didn’t want it like this, then he wouldn’t have propositioned Peter on a bloody ghost ship, would he? So he yanked Elias’s narrow hips back, and spread his cheeks, then pushed in with a quick thrust.

“Fuck,” Elias said softly, and Peter laughed, only to bit back a moan as Elias clenched down around him. He slapped his thigh hard in warning, which only made Elias clench down again, and let out a rather filthy moan. Only for it to be eaten by the encroaching bank of fog.

Each thrust of his cock jarred Elias against the wheel, held in place only by the bruising grip of Peter’s hands on his hips, and his own grip on the handles of the wheel. But he didn’t seem to mind, from the sounds he was making, the broken moans and whimpers that too were eaten up by the descent of Peter’s god. He was winning, he knew it, Elias’s assistant, his precious crate of eyes, nothing against the force of everything Peter was. Of everything his family had been for generations.

He reached around, and began to jerk Elias’s cock, even as he continued to thrust. Loving the way it was enfolded in his hand, the soft, delicate flesh brushing along his calloused fingers, pleasure pulled from them as Elias writhed beneath him. Everything but sensation seemed distant, as his hips continued to jerk into Elias’s tight hole, which only grew tighter as Elias tensed around him, spurting over the wheel and his hand. 

Exactly as he’d hoped, leaving Elias gasping and squirming under the force of his thrusts, crashing into him again and again as the ship around them grew heavy with fog. He lifted his hand to Elias’s mouth, thrusting his fingers between his lips. And oh, Elias sucked on them beautifully. Really, Peter much preferred him like this. 

With his fingers clean, his hand again found Elias’s neck. And again, Elias was surprisingly obliging, tipping his head back and staring up at the rigging, allowing Peter to cover his throat. Stroking and squeezing and cutting off any words Elias might utter to interrupt what had become worship of sorts. 

But it couldn’t last forever, as Peter’s balls tightened, his hips stuttering as he fucked into Elias. He bent his head to Elias’s back, teeth finding the meat of his shoulder and digging in as he came, deep inside the man who had dared try and take this ship from him. 

He let himself rest against Elias for a moment, cock softening inside him. Hand still at this throat, stroking lightly now. There’d be bruises from that, though unfortunately ones that might heal more quickly than Peter liked. Still, it was the thought that counted. And Peter found his thoughts were rather more favorable in general now.

“You’ve lost,” Peter said, murmuring the words into Elias’s skin. 

Elias shifted under him, almost certainly terribly uncomfortable. But he didn’t try to push Peter away. Finally knowing his place, here on the sea. 

“It seems I have. Poor Kevin, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.” 

Peter straightened up, allowing Elias to turn to his back was now to the wheel. Looking quite the mess, shirt askew and trousers and underwear still caught around his ankles, with his hair no longer perfectly styled. A look Peter was finding he might want to put on him again.

Peter leaned in and kissed Elias hard, teeth digging into his lip. Then he took a step back, and smiled wide and empty and cold as the sea. 

“He never stood a chance.”


End file.
